The Dragons' Gift: Prologue
A Sight all too Familiar
Faster and faster spun Iduna and Nëya until their feet were a dusty blur and their hair fanned about them and they glistened with a film of sweat. The elf-maids accelerated to an inhuman speed and the music climaxed in a frenzy of chanted phrases. Then a flare of light ran the length of the dragon tattoo, from head to tail, and the dragon stirred. At first Eragon thought his eyes had deceived him, until the creature blinked, raised his wings, and clenched his talons.
A burst of flame erupted from the dragon's maw and he lunged forward and pulled himself free of the elves' skin, climbing into the air, where he hovered, flapping his wings. The tip of his tail remained connected to the twins below, like a glowing umbilical cord. The giant beast strained toward the black moon and loosed an untamed roar of ages past, then turned and surveyed the assembled elves.
As the dragon's baleful eye fell upon him, Eragon knew that the creature was no mere apparition but a conscious being bound and sustained by magic. Saphira and Glaedr's humming grew ever louder until it blocked all other sound from Eragon's ears. Above, the specter of their race looped down over the elves, brushing them with an insubstantial wing. It came to a stop before Eragon, engulfing him in an endless, whirling gaze. Bidden by some instinct, Eragon raised his right hand, his palm tingling.
In his mind echoed a voice of fire: Our gift so you may do what you must.
The dragon bent his neck and, with his snout, touched the heart of Eragon's gedwëy ignasia. A spark jumped between them, and Eragon went rigid as incandescent heat poured through his body, consuming his insides. His vision flashed red and black, and the scar on his back burned as if branded. Fleeing to safety, he fell deep within himself, where darkness grasped him and he had not the strength to resist it.
Last, he again heard the voice of fire say, Our gift to you.
(Excerpt taken from pages 468-469 of American hard cover copy of Eldest)
Eragon awoke to the light of the harvest moon playing lightly upon his face, and the scent of smoke suffusing his nostrils. Head pounding, he slowly sat up.
In a distant portion of his mind, the dry feel of grass was tickling against his palm, yet this was processed automatically without making its way to his conscious mind. At this point, all he was concerned with was something to quench his sudden thirst.
That train of thought evaporated at the sight that now stood before him.
A clearing of smoldering grass and trees, with smoke drifting its way around. A scene all too familiar to the young Rider, the clarity of teh moment undulled by the intervening time.
Lying there, perfectly in the centre of the blast radius sat a mist-shrouded object. An oval rock, approximately a foot long.
Dark blue, with white veins splayed across its smooth surface.
Eragon's brain struggled to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. How, in the gods' names, was it possible for him to be looking upon Saphira's egg?
Well, here's the prologue of a story that has been long-time in the works. An idea I had when I was waiting for Inheritance to come out, and I finally decided to put into words.
I've actually drafted the first few chapters, so updates should be fairly regular to start off with. This is a small teaser for what is to come, to get the idea out there and get some people hooked (hopefully). If anyone would like to beta for me, that would be epic! Unlike my other(failed) attempts at stories, this will work - I actually have an idea of where the story is going, as opposed to making it up as I go along!
Update in a few days' time. Until then,
Ratty
Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!